Pretending
by Emilamoo
Summary: "He can't help it; he can feel his smile slipping off his features because she doesn't get it. He'd do absolutely anything in a heartbeat for her, especially if she were in danger. Racing to her side in an instant is at the very bottom of the list of measures he'd take to protect her." Alicia/Will. Spoilers for 4x18 "Death of a Client."


**Spoilers: 4x18 "Death of a Client"**

**Warning(s): Some brief strong language (hence the T rating).**

* * *

_"This is the way you left me;  
I'm not pretending.  
No love, no hope, no glory,_  
_No happy ending._

_This is the way that we love,_  
_Like it's forever._  
_Then spend the rest of our life,_  
_But not together."_

-"Happy Ending," MIKA

* * *

**Pretending**

He doesn't think he's ever seen her so by-definition beautiful. Her dress is the perfect shade of magenta, complimenting her tamer choice of lipstick, and the shape fits her perfectly, clutching as if custom made for her and not marked down 60% off. Her hair is done up neat so her diamond earrings can catch and glint in the light, sparkle like her hazel eyes do when she's happy. The elbow-length, black silk gloves just top off the ensemble, truly make her seem like a queen: regal. Untouchable. She's always had the power of commanding the attention of everyone in the room just by entering, but that power is heightened tonight.

But it isn't her gown or makeup or jewelry that makes her so beautiful to him. She could be in the rattiest pair of sweatpants, an over-sized hoodie and hair in a sloppy bun for all he cared as long as she was still sitting across from him and laughing like she is now.

He's always been particularly taken with and fond of her laugh; it might even be one of his favorite noises in the world. It's hearty and boisterously charming when it's genuine, something the complete opposite of what you'd expect from such a composed woman like herself. Yet again, the last thing Alicia Florrick's ever been is predictable. It was what first caught his attention at that midnight pool party two decades ago. Often times, her hand moves to cover her mouth when she lets her laughter loose, but he doesn't want that; he wants the whole world to be enchanted by it. At the same time, though, he wants to keep it for himself, lock it away so he can revisit it when times are tough. He likes to think her laughter is a gift, something a little bit sacred, almost a reserved secret, and he doesn't want to take advantage of it.

Now, with her head tilted a little bit back and that adoring sound ringing off the cramped stone walls, he doesn't find their circumstance so dreary. He's missed her laugh lately. It's times like this he finds her most beautiful: unguarded, at peace, like when she's snickering at someone's joke in the middle of the day, people bustling around her or when she's even just looking over some files in her office late at night.

"How was the party?" she inquires, eyebrows rising in an amused manner.

He pauses. _A little boring. Hints of something big buzzing around. Undeniable tension between the host and a few men, maybe including myself. Nerve-wracking because of Diane's offer. Awkward because the only Florrick there was not the one I wanted. _"Loads of fun," he opts on replying, flashing a cheesy, over-the-top grin.

She makes that low, throaty chuckle of hers, the one that makes his palms just a tad bit sweaty. "You look good," she comments appreciatively, eyes flickering over him and causing his pulse to stutter a beat (she has no idea what she does to him).

Covering his reaction smoothly, he glances down at himself and adjusts the lapels of his suit jacket, recalling how the drunken officer had catcalled "_James Bond_" when he first entered the station. "I do? Thanks; you do, too." (It's the understatement of the year.)

She brushes off his compliment by barely shaking her head, almost imperceptibly. "No, you look _really _good." (Why does she have to say that?) Her head bobbles back and forth a little, earrings dangling as she puts on a playful tone. "Rushing down here."

He can't help it; he can feel his smile slipping off his features because she _doesn't get it. _He'd do absolutely anything in a heartbeat for her, especially if she were in danger. She seems so carefree about the situation, assuring him that nothing's wrong, but she somehow still doesn't understand how worried he is for her, how his entire life would be drastically altered if something happened to her. Racing to her side in an instant is at the very bottom of the list of measures he'd take to protect her.

She seems to sense the change in attitude, and the air between them grows a bit heavier with tension. It's clear this will no longer be a casual chat. A small sniff escapes her, just one, before she speaks again. "We were good together, weren't we?"

Well that's utterly undeniable. Of course they were, and still could be, if only they had better timing. He would be hers at the moment of her word, but it's not like he can just tell her that. Instead, his eyes dart off briefly as he nods, then looks down, very well aware of what's to come. "Yes."

A trace of a smile crosses her features, and her gaze travels to something outside, something that makes that smile fade right away. He doesn't tear his gaze away from her, though, can't bring himself to, not when he gets so few chances like this just to gaze upon her unabashedly. So, he just looks questioningly at her, a silent inquiry as to what's wrong- which is plain ridiculous, really, considering all of this is wrong.

Her eyes focus on the table before her, fingers twiddling before they return to him. "We're keeping each other from moving on."

He instantly goes into denial, brooding eyes glancing off before moving back to hers. "No," he quips simply, voice screaming in contradiction. "We're fine."

"No, we're not," she interrupts, her voice cracking and breaking off at the end. He wants nothing more than to scoop her up and ease her pain away when her nose twitches and she removes her gaze to avoid letting him see the tears welling up in her eyes. "It's passed, and I'm pretending it's not."

Desperately, in vain, he tries to assure her differently, attempting to delay the inevitable just a bit longer. "Alicia, I'm fine. We have a residual..." his voice trails off as he racks his mind for an accurate way to describe it- _feeling of mutual emotion, desire, longing- _only to discover he cannot, "something or other, and we're dealing with it."

When she leans in a little, wet eyes pleading with his own, he knows all hope is lost and can only imagine how poorly he's masking his emotions. "I'm being selfish. I mean, even talking about it here: I'm being selfish."

He wishes so badly he could tell her no, that she's not, but he knows it's true. He wants her to continue being selfish, though, because then, he can be, too. He can cling onto the vain hope that as long as she doesn't let him go, there's still the tiniest prospect of them getting back together. If she lets him go, there's no reason for her to remember him, and she'll move on whether he does or not. That means he'll have to let her go, too, and he doesn't think he can. She doesn't know that he'll never be able to let her go.

All this and more he tries to convey with his eyes pleading into hers (_Just please don't let me go. Never let me go._), no longer trying to hide anything, and his look must be killing her, because she blinks back unshed tears (She doesn't know her look is killing him, too; they're a dangerous couple). "I'm back with Peter." Those four simple words send himself plummeting into a downward spiral of hopelessness. "Now, this has to end."

He can't bring himself to look at her when he responds, because if he doesn't look at her, he can pretend one last time that this is all just some big misunderstanding, a nightmare not really occurring. He restricts a heavy swallow and ignores the painful constrictions of his chest. They've been here before, a year ago, yet here they are again, despite being supposedly over each other (They never will be but can pretend). Of course, it feels much more final now, but he doesn't want to believe it.

"Can you just decide that?"

It's her turn to look away, and as she rubs her lips together, that one last spark of hope ignites only to be put out immediately after when her eyes return to his, expression serious, and he knows this is the end. "I can." A fresh wave of emotion seems to wash over her, and her voice wavers shakily as she elaborates. "I have to."

He doesn't want her love and decisions to feel like obligations, doesn't believe it's fair for them to be, and a swell of indignation surges up inside of him. He almost tells her so when: "_Hey, Mom: pick up the phone. Hey, Mom: pick up the phone_" blares through the room, jolting them away as if on cue.

She looks at him sadly, then laughs a little, humorlessly, because it's _just so fucking hilarious _how they have shitty timing even when they're breaking up.

His eyes flicker to the phone, wishing it'd just _shut the hell up already, _then back to her. He's no choice but to accept and respect her decision, even if it's the last thing he wants to do. "Okay."

She nods in confirmation, then flashes him what seems to be a genuinely apologetic expression. "I'm sorry; I have to get this."

In response, he merely shakes his head and waves his hand in a dismissive gesture, exiting the room and leaving her to speak with her children, the people that will always come before him.

* * *

Later, when he's nursing a Scotch and bitterly watching her sway the night away with her husband on the dance floor (must they really rub it in the whole world's face? Especially in his, on this particular night?), he almost snorts at the absurdity that she may have actually broken his heart, and not for the first time.

(She has.)

~FIN


End file.
